


insomniacs anonymous shouldn't meet at night

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: American Assassin (2017), Jack Ryan & Related Fandoms, Jack Ryan (2018)
Genre: Day 3: Insomnia, Friendship, Gen, Insomnia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleep Deprivation, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: Jack can't sleep, as per usual.  A glitch in his routine has the potential to make sleepless nights bearable for himself and for his new friend, Mitch.(Day 3 of Whumptober: Insomnia)





	insomniacs anonymous shouldn't meet at night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not happy with the first chapter bc it's late and it took me, like, half an hour to write but I wanted (needed) a good night's sleep at least once this week. I'm definitely going to revisit this when I have time to add on and expand my idea. For now, this is a place-holder for Whumptober.
> 
> (I just realized how ironic it is that Jack and Mitch don't get to sleep but I do. lol.)

_Tick-tick-tick-tick_.

 

The fan blades whir through the air at the pace a fish would drift through still waters.  If he lets his vision go out of focus the blades blur together.  When he gets bored of that, Jack focuses on one blade as it swings around until the darkness and the movement makes his eyes ache.  He switches off every so often.  He’s checked his phone too many times to count, but he knows he's been checking every five minutes, hoping time has somehow sped up.  

 

It is 3:30 AM.  Jack has been awake since 5:13 AM.  Each minute drips away like honey off the rim of a jar, edging him closer to a full twenty-four hours of being awake.  A shock goes through the nerves of his back; it follows the line of his scar and his spine creaks when he tries to readjust.  Sweat drips down his brow, sparking frustration that he can’t speed up his damn fan to cool off or else he’ll lose control.  He knows full well of the images provoked by his fan moving too fast.  It infuriates him that something as simple and mundane as a fan could bring him back to that day.

 

 _Tick-tick-tick-tick_.

 

The metronome provides something to ground him when his thoughts start to get away from him.  Jack’s eyes burn with exhaustion.  He desperately needs to sleep – he doesn’t want to be snappy and his productivity goes down slightly when he hasn’t had at least 5 hours of sleep.  His doctor always tells him he can get sleep medication, that getting a full 8 hours of sleep is the bare minimum for adults, that _y_ _ou need to rest your body and regenerate, even after healing._   Jack would listen and nod and occasionally mouth along to the words. 

 

There’s nothing in here for Jack.  Not in the corners so thickly covered in lace-like layers of shade building into a swath of shadows so dark, there may as well not be a corner.  He clutches the mattress and pushes himself up to sit.  Sliding his legs over, he lurches onto his feet.  The difference in position makes his spine crack loudly.  He sucks in a breath in preparation for the stiffness of his back and joints, and then reaches over to stop the metronome.

 

_Tick-tick-_

 

Skirting around his sheets pooled on the floor, Jack pads out of the room.  He feels too sticky to get dressed but completely devoid of motivation to get in the shower.  In fact, the only thing he even wants to think about is shutting his eyes and sleeping instead of just lying there for hours until headache forms.  A surge of frustration nearly stops him in his tracks.  He wants to storm back into bed, turn up the fan, and just get some damn rest. 

 

Jack does not storm back into bed.  He would be too worked up to lie still anyway and if he triggers a flashback he won’t sleep for another twenty-four hours.  Instead, Jack shuffles over to his couch and lowers himself down slowly.  He can’t go rowing for another hour so he opts to lose himself in social media, something he rarely wastes time on.  Jack can’t bring himself to care about people he doesn’t know – is that so wrong?  However, it’s a good way to eat up time when he looks through the explore page.  There’s plenty of useless information for him to learn. 

 

The glare of his phone, though minimal, is too much after a measly 15 minutes.  He throws it off to the side.  Jack rubs his face slowly, rolling over with some difficulty.  In a last-ditch effort to trick his body into sleeping, Jack pushes his face into a throw pillow, reveling in the cool fabric against his too-hot face.

 

It doesn’t work.  


End file.
